


it's an awful sound when you hit the ground

by sylveondreams



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, aziraphale screams at god, falling aziraphale, overuse of holy water as a plot device, rising crowley, sort of on both the angst part and the happy ending part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 01:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylveondreams/pseuds/sylveondreams
Summary: Aziraphale (An Angel who not so much Fell as Tripped Over A Giant Snake And Stumbled Quite A Ways Downwards Before Catching Himself On Said Giant Snake Again)





	it's an awful sound when you hit the ground

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Awful Sound (Oh Eurydice)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EyLobd7bQtc) by Arcade Fire.

It was rare these days for Aziraphale to be sent somewhere on assignment, but it did still happen. The occasional miracle every few weeks, usually within a few hours' drive of his and Crowley's cottage, and, rarely, a venture to the Continent was all that was asked of him. It was as if they didn't want to admit to the Higher-Ups that disciplining him had failed and they didn't want to work with him any longer.

There wasn't anything wrong with Sweden, but it was too far from home. (Aziraphale was a Principality, after all, and accordingly he placed a great deal of importance on the subject of home.) Aziraphale was doing Good, though, so he couldn't object too much. There was a small town deep inside Sweden that had a problem with malevolent spirits, and Aziraphale had to consecrate it to drive the ravenous things back. It was straightforward, but would knock out that particular village as a potential travel destination for him and Crowley. A shame. The people were lovely.

On his last night in the village, Aziraphale's feet itched. He scratched for a long time before remembering that he could miracle the problem away and sat with his legs crossed on his chair for the rest of the night. The pressure of the ground on the soles of his feet made them itch more.

Crowley met Aziraphale at the airport without much more fanfare than glancing around at the vehicles waiting in the chaotic pick-up lanes with a satisfied grin before kissing the angel's hand and taking his bag from him.

"I think I have a rash on my feet," sighed Aziraphale as he settled into the passenger seat.

"Really?" Crowley almost honked at a Kia as he pulled out of his spot, but thought better of it just in time.

"They itched like _anything_ last night. I miracled them, but you know how it is with feet."

Crowley did not, in fact, know how it was with feet. "Do they still itch?"

Aziraphale frowned. "It went away by the time I reached the airport."

"Probably just Sweden, then."

"Can one be allergic to an entire country?"

Crowley scowled at a little red Beetle. "Ireland. Snakes. You know."

"Ah." Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. "You think Sweden expelled angels?"

"Ehh." Crowley drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Still." The lane he was trying to turn into was remarkably clear. "My feet itch when I go there. It's like discount holy ground."

"Still?"

"It's been forty years since the last time I went."

Aziraphale examined his hands as Crowley sped along. "Whatever it was got on my hands, too, I think. Ruined a perfectly good manicure."

Crowley leaned over to look.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

"Your fingers look swollen."

"Yes, I noticed. There's a car there, Crowley, for-"

Crowley flicked his fingers, and the car was out of his way. "It's like you stuck your fingers in a closing door. Nasty."

Aziraphale shot him a Look. "Obviously I didn't. Ruin a p-"

"I didn't say you _did_. That's worse than a rash, angel, you'll have to let me look at it when we get home."

"You can look at my fingers, love, if you look _at the road_!"

"Hmm." Crowley's yellow eyes peered intently at Aziraphale's hand, his own slender fingers holding it and turning it gently to examine it. "I don't think it could be the same thing if your hands never itched and your feet returned to normal."

"Stop fussing, my dear. I'm sure it's nothing. You don't need to hunt down every little thing that makes me uncomfortable." With his free hand, Aziraphale ruffled Crowley's hair, making the demon scowl.

"You're insufferable, angel. You want to be comfortable, but insist I don't help you with it." He looked up, straining his neck to be able to look Aziraphale in the eye from his position deep in the angel's lap.

Aziraphale smiled down at him. "I sit in your garden every day, love. You helped make this cottage home. You've already done enough."

Crowley grumbled wordlessly, dropped Aziraphale's hand, and turned over lazily to kiss his partner's stomach. Slightly swollen and reddened fingers trailed lovingly down his back, dancing over where patches of scales were hidden underneath his clothing.

"Bastard," muttered Crowley into the tan waistcoat his lips were pressed against, bunching his fingers in the fabric of Aziraphale's slacks.

"Fiend," returned Aziraphale fondly.

Aziraphale frowned at Crowley. "They'd just returned to normal, too. And now they sting."

"What have you been doing, angel?" Crowley, once again in Aziraphale's lap but sitting up this time, held Aziraphale's hands in his own.

"The usual. Miracles. Sitting in the garden. Reading. And I baptized dear Eva yesterday. She insisted I do it, even though I told her I'm absolutely _not_ certified in _any_ religious organization."

"Never was quite sure how much good baptizing humans ever actually did for their eternal souls."

Aziraphale hummed. "I don't believe I did anything _new_."

"Well."

"I'm not allergic to _that_ , you fiend. I think we've established by now."

A crooked grin had found its way onto Crowley's face and was now perched solidly there. "Do you want to try again and see if it gets any worse?"

"Crowley."

Crowley laughed and leaned in to kiss him. Aziraphale's eyes fluttered closed automatically, but the brush of lips against his never came.

"Oh."

"Hmm?" Aziraphale opened his eyes to see Crowley gazing down at his hands again.

"I think- Angel, what's your name? Tell me your name."

"Aziraphale? Crowley, wh-"

"Your _true_ name." Crowley looked back up at Aziraphale, his expression serious.

"Aziraph-" Aziraphale choked, his throat suddenly burning. "Az-"

" _Fuck._ " Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hands, sending little stinging pains through the raw skin. "Angel, don't panic, but-"

"The holy water," said Aziraphale, the words scratching through his suddenly sore throat. He leaned forwards to embrace Crowley tightly, bending his head to press his face into his partner's shoulder. "Crowley."

"The holy water," said Crowley, and put his arms around Aziraphale to hold him close.

In the middle of the night, Crowley awoke to a bed devoid of companionship and something indistinct screamed from downstairs. He flung on his robe and flew down the stairs.

The lights were on in the kitchen, and Crowley stopped at the doorway. Aziraphale, naked, faced the opposite wall, his head tilted to the ceiling, and his wings stretched out wide, soft grey feathers brushing the cabinets. "Are you listening to me?" Aziraphale screamed, his words, spoken in the arcane language of angels, echoing around the kitchen like it didn't contain anything that could absorb sound. "I just want to know why!"

"No one has ever known, my love," said Crowley, the angelic language ripping through his throat like he was spitting up blades.

Aziraphale turned, and Crowley closed his eyes to protect himself from the radiance that shone from his partner's eyes like the sun was trapped within them.

"Why, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked with human tongue, his voice hoarse. "Why?"

"It's ineffable." Crowley shrugged his robe from his shoulders and let his wings unfold. "Focus on me, angel. Tame your divinity so I can look at you."

The blinding light dimmed. "Crowley..."

"You're still my angel, love. This doesn't make any difference to me."

"Crowley, look." The light dimmed more.

Crowley opened his eyes to gaze upon the radiance before him. The silver leaf on Aziraphale's chest shone with an inner light, and his eyes still glowed. "You still shine like _anything_."

"Not me. Look at yourself. Your wings, my dear."

Crowley turned his wings inward so that he could see them. Dark grey feathers brushed against Aziraphale's lighter grey. "Oh."

"Yes."

 _"Oh."_ Crowley turned his face upwards and made a _what the fuck_ gesture towards the heavens.

But Aziraphale had returned to fretting. "Do you think I'll keep...?" The light dimmed more, until it was just the usual glow of his ethereal essence spilling slightly from its cramped human form.

"I think," said Crowley, "I think I may have caught you. After all, it's not a literal- You know?"

"I'm glad I have you, then." Aziraphale sniffed. A tear rolled slowly down his cheek.

"Oh, angel. Even if they'd called you up there and shoved you down the lift shaft, I'd be waiting at the bottom to catch you. Of course you have me."

Crowley could see more tears welling in Aziraphale's eyes, and he finally moved forward so that he could wipe them away. He put his hands on Aziraphale's temples, intending to wipe away the tears with his thumbs, but as soon as they made contact with the corners of the angel's eyes, Crowley snatched his hands away. It hurt, oh Satan it hurt. He looked down at his hands, where new blisters bloomed across the pads of his thumbs. "Ow."

"Oh dear, what happened?" Aziraphale took Crowley's hands in his.

"You're crying holy water." Crowley had obviously never _felt_ the stuff before, but the clean burning pain was unmistakably heavenly.

"Oh." Aziraphale laughed through his tears and pressed his forehead against Crowley's. "And you survived touching it."

"I did."

"I don't know what to think."

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hands. "We're free, angel."

"You really think so?" Gentle fingers grazed over Crowley's.

"They didn't do this to us. Gabriel didn't shove you down. No one in their right mind would pull a demon up."

Aziraphale laughed and sniffed. "I would."

"What I said. In their right mind. We don't fit in their groups anymore."

"I'm not sure if we did in the first place. Angels. Bunch of..." Aziraphale dithered, trying to think of a better way to say it. "Bastards."

Crowley pressed his face closer, brushing their noses together. "Maybe you did fit in, my love. After all, you _are_ a bit of a bastard yourself."

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, his eyes flitting away from Crowley's. " _Crowley._ Not like them. You know what I mean."

"Can we go back to bed, or do you need to shout at the Almighty more?"

"Do you think She did this?"

"Who else?"

Aziraphale hummed, and was quiet for a long moment. His eyes had mostly dried, although they were now more red and puffy than eyes crying for such a short amount of time should be, and although he still sniffed every now and then, he seemed to have largely calmed down. "I suppose we can go back to bed. I can shout again later if I need to. And besides, I've just noticed I'm chilly."

It would be beneficial to note that Aziraphale Fell not because he disobeyed the orders of Heaven, but because the Almighty knew that he and Crowley would catch each other somewhere in the middle and tumble forever there like birds clutching each other in flight. (Take that as you will.) Free from the pressure of obeying either side, they would be safe to do as they pleased, at least until they were needed again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [sylveondreams](https://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/)~


End file.
